#sandman hob

[scifrey]

Keepsakes

Status: Ongoing Ficlet collection; unbeta'd

Series: the Hob Adherent series

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse (including the Good Omens and Lucifer television shows), but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.

Rating: Mature-ish.

Warnings: Discussions of grief and in-canon character death. Some sexytimes. Some whomp and hurt/comfort.

Relationships:  Morpheus | Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Eleanor | Hob Gadling’s Wife/Hob Gadling (past)

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Patrick the Bartender, Harriet Butler, Matthew the Raven

Summary: Short ficlets set in the Hob Adherent world, based on prompts received from readers. Feel free to DM me or leave prompts in the comments, and if it resonates with me, I may write up a ficlet! Thank you for the inspiration in advance.

Set amid the events of Cling Fast and Carpe Diem

READ ON AO3 OR READ BELOW:

Postcards

"So, a sword in Buckingham's army, a bandit, a printer, a shipwright and then a merchant middleman for the dockyards, a knight, a beggar, investment broker--"

"Slaver," Hob interrupts Harriet as she counts off his professions on her fingers one slow, sunny afternoon at The New Inn. "Call the thing what it was."

Hari offers him a sympathetic smile. They're the only ones in the pub proper today, as Patrick is off to tend his ailing mother, Dee doesn't come in Mondays, and Morph is having lunch with his editor.

"After which you were an MP and staunch abolitionist, a soldier again in America for the North, an industrialist and labor rights advocate, a yuppie and silicone valley early adopter--"

"Apple paid for most of this," Hob agrees, selecting a glass and checking it for water spots or lipstick stains.

"--and now a professor and publican. Am I missing any?"

“Oh!” Hob remembers as he pulls a pint for her. "And I was ruler of Hell."

She leans across the bar from her stool, and thwacks his arm. “Fuck off, you were not, you old liar,” Hari laughs.

"Was so!" Hob protests, setting her beer down in front of her. "Ask my husband. He was there. I was ruler of Hell for thirteen minutes and seventeen seconds on my six-hundred and sixty-sixth birthday."

Hari raises a challenging eyebrow at Hob over her pint glass as she takes a sip. "I won't believe a thing the Prince of Stories tells me," she says decisively, when she sets the beer back down. "And I don't believe you."

Hob pulls a postcard from L.A. off the bar back, where it's been pinned to a corkboard among a handful of others, all from the same city. This card depicts a cartoon devil drawn over a photo of the Hills, lounging on the iconic Hollywood sign. It says "Greetings from Sin City!" in bright yellow font.

Hob hands it to Hari to inspect. Her face gets drawn as her eyes flick over the handwritten note on the back.

"To my fellow former ruler of Hell; I did it! I opened a nightclub, just like you suggested. Visit me at LUX any time you'd like, Hobsie. xxx Lucifer Morningstar," Hari reads in a voice that grows increasingly strangled.

She hands the card back to Hob with trembling fingers. Then she shotguns the rest of her pint.

"So hell is real, then," Hari warbles.

Hob shrugs. "Everything is real. Humans create gods, not the other way around. If someone believes in it, it exists."

Hari nods thoughtfully. "I suppose you would know, being married to a god."

Hob chuckles. "Well, former god-ish. And don't worry, only people who believe they deserve to go to Hell actually do. Self-punishment or fulfilling prophecy, or something. I try not to think to much about that Celestial stuff."

Hari nods again, and without asking, Hob refills her pint glass. He has a feeling she's going to need it.

"But it is something I'm going to have to worry about," Hari says softly, accepting the drink with a nod.

"Not any time soon, I hope," Hob says, folding his arms on the bar top and leaning close to offer her a comforting look. "And when it does happen, I can promise you that my sister-in-law is gentle and kind. You have nothing to worry about."

Harriet runs her arthritis gnarled finger up and down the side of the glass, collecting up the condensation. "You know, that is actually a comfort." She looks up at Hob with a wicked little grin. "Especially knowing your husband."

Hob throws his head back and laughs.

[acapelladitty]

The Sandman - Bootlicking 🥾

Summary: In a moment of foolishness, the Corinthian spits at Hob Gadling and Dream sets out a very appropriate punishment.

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

It was Hob who instigated the disagreement but the Corinthian who paid the price as, in a moment of pure irritation, he spat at the feet of the arrogant human who had succeeded in getting a rise from him.

The ice-cold voice of Dream rang out from his obsidian throne as both men stilled.

“You have disgraced yourself, Corinthian.”

Shame welling deep in his chest, the Corinthian did not dare to glance at his disappointed master. Instead, the Corinthian fixed Hob Gadling with a look which many had come to know in the final few moments prior to their arterial spray littering the chilled air before them. It was a look that promised a sweet violence, one carved into his very being.

The resounding crack which echoed through the vast chamber stirred memories of smashing marble – a thick, dense collision which left no doubt in those gathered that the Corinthian’s jaw was dislocated in place as he struck the ground hard.

Dazed, a low whine escaped the Corinthian’s busted lip as vivid crimson dripped to stain the floor below. His eyes rose to flick a very blurred gaze between Dream and Hob; the openly shocked face which decorated Hob’s expressive features at odds with the utter void of Dream’s stoniness.

“Come. Clean the mess you have made or lose your ability to do so again.” Dream warned, his power effortless rolling off his slim frame like the dark waves which crashed on the shores of Nightmare to wash over the Corinthian. It was a warning that promised consequence and fear trickled down the Corinthian’s spine as he were enveloped by it while Dream continued. “And be thankful that I am not taking it regardless.”

Hot shame flushed through his system as the Corinthian made good to stand and follow his lords demand but his knees had barely rose before he found his chest slammed down to the cold flooring once more as Dream carelessly flicked a finger in his direction. Barely a gesture and yet his lungs struggled to fill with air as the blow once again caught him off guard.

“Crawl.” Dream said. “If you act like a beast then you may crawl as one.”

The Corinthian nodded, the natural submission which clawed at his senses when the Dream Lord made a direct command of him taking precedence over what little pride still remained burning away in his chest.

And he crawled.

His knees were muffled against the stone flooring, the pale suit preventing any real noise from escaping as he moved on all fours slowly, directly making a path towards his maker to prostrate himself at his feet. To endure another shame which would eat away at his thoughts in those quiet moments where his thoughts were more dangerous than any beast of Nightmare.

Having reached both Dream and Hob as they towered over him, the Corinthian bowed his head until his aching cheek pressed against the rough floor – the cool stone providing a little relief to the broken bones there. He then turned to face the shiny patent leather dress shoes which adorned Hob’s feet as he existed within the Dreaming.

The Corinthian observed his spittle for a moment, the liquid glistening atop the leather like a jewel, mocking him as he went to open his jaw. Instantly, a sharp whine of discomfort leaked free of the mangled lips as the small movement sparked a dull, vicious ache across the displaced bones. It was a burning pain, one which was familiar in a terrible way as the bones scraped out of their intended place.

Swallowing down some of the blood which had accumulated within his mouth from the split lips, the Corinthian tried to ignore the pain. Ignore the shame. Ignore the way that his half-hard cock pressed uncomfortably against the seam of his slacks at the familiar submission.

His pink tongue dropped to lap at the spit which he had so foolishly fired at Hob’s feet, the soft leather thankfully clean as he swiped across the area with wide licks, determined to finish his task quickly. Clean leather, the scent of it stirring memories of centuries past where leather clung to his skin as he wove among the dreamers, imitating their style of dress without flaw.

His spit was cold in his mouth, the liquid having cooled against the leather and he swallowed it down with his own blood – the motion making his fists clench as he ignored the pain and tried to focus on the heat in his lower belly.

A creature of sensation, he would take whatever pleasure he could from such humiliation.

[doodledgalaxy]

Initially I wasn’t going to do anything else with Death of the Endless!Daniel Hall, but I thought the idea of immortal man meets child of death was sort of funny. So have a mini comic about him meeting Hob as a kid:

*Death did not so much as “adopt” Daniel but kept visiting him and Lyta when he was a baby with the excuse of checking if he was still mostly human. Death was good at taking care of him, so by the time he was 3 Lyta said nothing when Death called them both the mom.

**Hob thought it was funny at the time to not tell Daniel he was immortal. The face the child made trying to fathom how old Hob was amused him too much. Really, he did plan on telling him next time. Except there was no “next time” as Lyta was less than pleased that Dreams babysitting featured a bar.

He thought nothing of it till over a decade later when Daniel walked into his college lecture. That same angry face and a loud “YOU” tipped Hob off exactly who it was. This started an originally one-sided, petty rivalry. Hob accidentally messes up a date in a lecture and Daniel’s hand is shooting up to correct him. In turn, Daniel is always the person chosen when Hob asks a question and the whole class is silent. The class has started a bet on why exactly the two are in a feud.

Assumptions include: Hob must be family or a family friend (Hob saying Daniel has always been an odd goth person, Daniel already knowing he owned the local bar, and Hob once memeing a young picture of a child who looks way too much like Daniel-courtesy of Dream-contributed to this), the two having met before (theories range from Hob having taught him before to they were in a bad production of Shakespeare together, purely from how much glee the boy seemed to take in his professors rants against the bard), or two of the nicest people on campus just met each other and it was loathing at first sight.

BONUS:

Death visits Hob days later just to show him her seemingly endless amount of pictures. He’s too polite (or fears upsetting the literal personification of death?) to ask her to stop and sits through them all.

[missghostlyshadow]

Sandman Series Head canon: Hob Gadling

1. Hob does not like the taste of plain coffee, he is actually very fond of those sugary coffees with lots of cream, syrup and sugar. Hob can often be found drinking one of those fancy ice coffee's that you get at Starbucks, cavities be damned. 2. Hob owns a pair of fuzzy bumblebee slippers that where a gift from Death, he wears with so much pride because they keep his feet warm and he just thinks they are cute. 3.Hob, enjoys taking naps on rainy days and will leave his bedroom window slightly cracked open just enough to have the scent of the rainstorm to trickle into his room, but not enough to soak his floor. 4.Hob owns an impressive collection of weighted blankets; he wants to be comfortable and warm during the winter. 5.Hob can crochet, he likes to make raven plushies for some odd reason. 6.Hob always carries an extra pencil in his back pocket, you never know when you got to write something down.

[maarigolds]

Neil Gaiman's favorite trope

[seadeepspaceontheside]

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. Get duned.

[pointyshoesmf]

Hob talks a lot about nothing in particular; Dream wants

Finally finished this one, so have some 80s Dream(his ass is not listening)

[lokis-bitter-ghost]

ships in the neil gaiman universe are so funny to me because you have

two guys who are both dead, one who died in the edwardian era and then was sent to hell for 70 years and one who died in the late 80s who decided not to (potentially) go to heaven to stick with some guy he met a minute ago

a LITERAL angel and a LITERAL demon who have known each other since literally the beginning of THE UNIVERSE

and a guy who said "actually i think i dont wanna die. what if i just didnt" and then he actually never did because death thought it would be funny and death's brother, the god of dreams, who thought the other guy would get tired of being immortal and is sticking around to see if he does

[keepinginkspots]

A Dreamling hug for you all

[voukkake]

He's just a little inmortal dude living his best life

[bookholichany]

How Neil Gaiman killed me...

[scifrey]

I am still waiting on an editing letter for my next novel, so I am looking some prompts to keep my brain and fingers limber.

So, if you enjoyed CLING FAST, CARPE DIEM, or anything Hob Adherent, and want me to write a little ficlet, I am now open to prompts and suggestions!

Askbox is open.

[euzede]

pov: you're Hob Gadling undergrad professor of Medieval History at uni and you thought you could sleep in late

(+ bonus obligatory kiss)

[thebitchesterbrothers]

The Endless siblings and Dream being the stylish bitch he is:

Meanwhile his consort:

[lichanicksstuff]

Professor Gadling always knows which student wrote their paper and which one used chat GPT. Nobody knows how he does it. No paraphrasing program can dupe him. He can always tell. Every one of his colleagues is amazed by this skill, they always ask for his help judging if the essay was written by an AI or a person. And he does that with a wide smile on his face.

It's really easy. All it takes is to give his old friend a good cup of tea and a red pen to mark the ones that were not written by a human hand. "The imitations don't have souls," his friend says. And this is what he tells his students. They never understand and Hob finds it very funny.

[seadeepspaceontheside]

Dream is tired.